


Whale of a Tale

by Krethes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fear, Injury Recovery, M/M, Peter's not an asshole scumbag, Slow Build, Yo ho yo ho there's puppies on the sea, marauder era, no magic, they're pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29192943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krethes/pseuds/Krethes
Summary: They're the Marauders, a Robin Hood-esque band of pirates known across the seas. He is Remus Lupin, neither pirate nor scourge, and he is not entirely sure he wants anything to do with them, particularly with First Mate and Quartermaster Sirius Black prying into his secrets. But it's a high-seas adventure filled with sword fights, mystery, and plenty of that Marauder banter!
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 8





	1. Don’t get many of ‘The Lupinses’ in London.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this years ago on FFDN and have recently gotten a surge of inspiration to continue. I've edited and added to this and have a few other chapters finished already and ready to go! I use AO3 exclusively now and would like to share it here with y'all. :)
> 
> Also, my tenses are historically all over the place, so I apologize in advance! I am also not a great scholar of ship anatomy, but I do my best!

_ Chapter One _

"Listen, Sirius, do you really think this is a good idea?" Eyes as blue as the sky overhead stole a glance at the lanky and battered-looking body leaning against the railing of the ship before returning to peer into annoyingly stubborn gray eyes. "I mean, we hardly know the fellow and I'm not sure I quite like the cut of his jib. What's his name again, anyway?"

"Come off it, mate. He's probably perfectly harmless and he's got a pulse. Besides, do you honestly think he could hurt either of us, or anyone else on this brig?" Sirius paused and looked at the man in question before looking back at his friend. "Lupin, said his name was. Didn't, ah…quite catch the first."

The question was a fair one. The young man gazing out across the deep cerulean waters of the ocean below was terribly thin, significantly wounded, sickly-looking, and lacking in anything resembling substantial visible muscle. James would not have believed him capable of walking upright, let alone shooting up up the mainstay like a damned monkey if he hadn't seen it for himself with his own eyes.

"I s'pose not… S'a rather queer name, Lupin, yeah? Uncommon, like. Don’t get many of ‘The Lupinses’ in London."

"I mean, yeah, but… What difference does his name make, James? I'm black only in my soul, or so say those charming posters, and you can't make a vase to save your life.” He pronounced it with the long “a”, because of course he did. “Remember, you tried- as a bet with those birds off the coast of France? As I recall, you lost your trousers and a great deal of your dignity when they found out you had a tiny pri-"

"Shut up, Sirius, before I tie your hands and pitch you overboard."

"Whatever you say, Captain." And so, with a jaunty little wave and a mocking grin glued to his face, Sirius Black, scourge of five of the seven seas (they hadn't quite braved the frost of the Poles just yet), left his good fellow in pursuit of less  _ prickly _ prey.

Said prey seemed, for all appearances, to be fastidiously ignoring his new crewmates. His eyes were locked on the churning sea as if in deep thought. Sirius leaned against the railing about three feet away and threw his eyes to the clouds. They were fluffy and white and promised for happy sailing if no one did anything to annoy the sea spirits. "Thinking of drowning yourself? Or did you see a mermaid in the water what's promised you untold amounts of pleasure? Mind you lad, those are  _ basically _ the same thing, so don’t believe a word that sea-witch says."

The man practically jumped out of his skin and his breath stuck in his throat in what sounded like a strangled growl. The thin skin of his neck fluttered madly as his heart rate spiked and then slowed back down, his chest heaving as whatever demons he kept locked inside tried to beat their way out. He threw a half-wild look at Sirius before settling, the haunted shadows behind his eyes retreating behind a heavy curtain of gold.

His reaction was not lost on Sirius. He’d been sailing for long enough with all manner of man to know a troubled person when he saw one. But it was none of his business. Never was. _'Strange eyes the boy's got, too,'_ Sirius thought to himself, distancing himself from the train of thought that wanted to learn all of the man’s apparent and abundant secrets. He liked the color gold -- it was the color of doubloons and a color that promised rum, food, and limitless pleasure.

"Oh, no. I was just lost in my thoughts, that's all. Don't mind me," Lupin said softly and slapped a forced, razor-thin grin on his mouth like a practiced gesture. He turned gingerly, consciously minding his injuries, so that his back was to the sea and his eyes rested on the mainstay.

"…Not thinking about bolting up there again, are you? I don't bite," Sirius teased, eyes dancing wickedly. He immediately felt guilty for saying as much when the other man flinched as though he'd been slapped. That wild look flashed again in his eyes, like he wanted nothing more than to do just as Sirius had predicted.

Lupin forced himself to relax, sucked in breaths of salt air through his nose and out through his mouth in ragged sighs, and offered a slightly more genuine grin. "I enjoy climbing,” he said simply, as if that explained how and why he was able to scale nearly 150 feet in a handful of seconds. “If there's something I'm meant to be doing, please tell me. I…I don't like feeling idle." His hands clenched the fabric of his trousers at his sides, worrying the already stressed threads.

Sirius furrowed his brow but tried his best to keep his tone and expression nonchalant as he looked sidelong at the sandy-haired sailor. "Are you sure you're up to working? I mean, you were in pretty dreadful shape when we picked you up at last port. What exactly happened, if you don't mind my prying?"

Lupin’s head bowed forward, his silvering light brown hair falling to cast a shadow over his face, obscuring it from Sirius's view. "I'm sure, and I do mind, actually. It's nothing though, really. I've been through worse," he insisted, a definite hard edge to his voice that left little room for argument.

Shocked, Sirius's mind tripped forward into the mystery of the injuries the other man had had. He healed remarkably well in such a short amount of time, a trait that James had found to be very admirable upon later reflection (his exact words, as though it was a skill to be learned), but he hadn't uttered a peep as to  _ how _ he had obtained such grievous wounds.

_ He and James had been looking for a few new crewmates after losing a few, God rest their souls, to the last big storm. They’d had shit luck the whole day long, only getting offers from actual children (a literal 8-year-old, trying to escape the horrors of feeding chickens and sheep, how dreadful) or well-past-three-sheets alcoholics. As they were retreating to the ship, their surgeon (and friend) Peter came across the frayed shape of the bleeding man crumpled outside of the stables and alerted Sirius and begged him, with all of the softness in his heart, to help the poor bugger out. Peter was always picking up strays. _

_ Reluctantly, and making Peter swear to keep it hush-hush from James who would be  livid and  _ so-very-loud , _ Sirius agreed to bring him onboard where they dressed his wounds, which numbered great. There were multiple injuries that looked like bite marks from a very large dog all over his arms and legs, several long gashes across his torso, scratches on his face, and even something they recognized as a bullet lodged in his right shoulder. Within minutes of being attended to and force-fed tincture of opium, the man had been out like a light, sleeping as if he hadn't had a decent night's rest in months. _

_ They’d stowed him in Sirius’s cabin, Peter’s being a little small for two people and already the home of two other strays -- cats, Jingle and Jangle (names which caused Sirius great pain to hear), who kept their rat population under control. Sirius slept in his washing basin with bits of blanket tucked around him, or tried to sleep. His brain kept jolting him into awareness to check on the dying man, obsessing over the notion that he would  _ not _ have a man die in his room. _

_ Sirius rose early the next morning and, after assuring himself that the man was still breathing, went to try to put on a good show for his captain (and keep James away from his quarters). Peter slipped through the door to check on his patient and to see if he was conscious enough for a bit of breakfast, but before he could so much as take three steps, the man was upright and had sprinted the length of the ship to fly up the mainstay as quick as anything. Getting him down had been a real circus and had only been accomplished when Peter, with his round, gentle face, promised that no harm would come to him. _

_ Of course, the commotion roused the good Captain James Potter and he'd thrown a right fit about a  stranger - a stowaway!- being taken aboard his vessel overnight. A ruse! A plot! He and Sirius got into a long row about the dangers of such  _ mutiny _ , James had called it, but eventually Sirius won- he won a lot of the arguments- and the strange man was permitted to stay on the promise that he would join the crew as payment for such kind and ethical treatment. _

_ Lupin, as they soon learned his name to be, protested vehemently and said that he had wanted nothing to do with the crew and had not  asked to be taken care of, but when the breakfast bell clamored and the smell of warm meat hit him like a wave, he relented and signed his life over to the crew of the  _ Gryffindor _. He reasoned with himself that he would only stay until he was back into shape. He would, in the meantime, get a few good meals into his belly to fatten up and then jump ship when next he saw land which, he hoped, was within the month._

"You're bleeding," Sirius observed more casually than the situation called for, and reached out to wipe the thick wet line from the man's cheek. Before he could even get within a foot of him, Lupin side-stepped along the rail and took care of it himself, leaving a streak of bright crimson on the what-even-is-soap-and-water-dirty sleeve of his shirt. The wound gaped wide and kept bleeding, welling up again in a silent threat to spill down Lupin’s face. 

"I can have Peter restitch it if you'd like, Lupin," the black-haired pirate tried again in slightly more soothing tones, having caught the nervousness radiating off of their newly-pressed member.

Lupin fixed him with a rather curious look, his eyes not hiding the inner workings of his mind, not masking the turning of the gears in his head as he weighed the situation, the pros and cons of agreeing. Finally, he gave a short, curt nod. "If it wouldn't be too much of a bother." 

A sun-tanned hand flapped this way and that in the air and Sirius scoffed. "A bother? Oh  _ please _ . That's Wormtail's—that is, Peter's, _job_ , lad. Or one of them anyway. C'mon, let's get you all poked and sewn back together, my ragdoll pal. One little stroll out on deck and you're already falling apart on me!" His tone was light and his smile stretched across his face, a tiny dimple appearing on his left cheek like a secret, winking for only a moment before disappearing.

Making the walk down the length of the ship did not seem to Sirius to be too taxing on his new crewmate. Lupin did draw a fair amount of attention, though. He was tall, for one thing, and overly so in Sirius’s opinion, as he stood a head taller than Sirius, an already-tall bloke, and he walked... strangely. Where Sirius's strides were long, graceful, and proud, Lupin's were more subservient, skittish; it was like he wanted to hide and had an edge to every step that let on that he was ready to dive overboard if he was given any chance or reason to do so. He was like Jingle when they first brought him aboard...

' _Like a wild animal,_ ' Sirius mused as he watched the bleeding man from the corner of his eye.

Some of the notably superstitious (more so than the average sailor) men tensed or scattered away, though Sirius wasn't sure why. He merely guessed that they were just nervous about the mysterious newcomer on board. The  _ Gryffindor  _ crew had been together as a single unit for over 2 years now, never losing a man until that demon of a storm. His chest grew tight thinking about the mates he’d lost and he pushed the thought from his mind. They were gone and with Davy Jones now, God help them. 

Sirius rapped on a cabin door with a rod of Asclepius painted on it in red. He swung it open without waiting for a confirmation, holding it for Lupin while watching him carefully for any signs of overt distress. The man made it inside alright, though he certainly looked more jumpy and nervous than before now that there were four walls around him and a closed door to deal with. Sirius couldn't imagine why being in an enclosed space would be troubling for someone—it wasn't like the med bay was overly small and it didn’t smell  _ that  _ bad.

"Oi, Petey, Lupin here needs a quick stitch, mate. Hey—wake up!" Sirius snapped, kicking the leg of the chair that the portly man was dozing in. The chair was sent off-balance and it and the occupant toppled over backwards, effectively waking Peter up.

The round-faced man scrambled to his feet without an ounce of grace and blinked his watery blue eyes several times as he tried to get his senses about him again. He scowled at Sirius but his expression softened when he saw Lupin looking even more terrified and practically pressed against the door. "I'll uh…be right with you, then." His lips lifted in what he hoped was a comforting smile and he patted the wooden table in the middle of the cabin before bustling around to get his supplies.

Sirius offered Lupin a large calloused hand to help him onto the table, but the man seemed disinclined to touch anyone if he could help it. Lupin tried to climb onto the table and would have succeeded if not for the crippling pain that shot through his torso when he turned to sit. He would have slid down onto the deck if not for Sirius, who acted quickly and grabbed him under his arms, hauling him carefully to his feet. "Whoa there, mate! Easy now!" he said, concern laced through his voice. "Peter, don't just stand there! He's obviously hurt!" Sirius growled at the gawking man.

Lupin tensed the moment he was grabbed, but did not seem able to do anything further. He allowed himself to be picked up the short distance to be sat on the table and even tolerated the hand on his back. His face was noticeably white under his natural tan and his eyes panicked and stormy, every muscle in his body strung tight as a bow. He couldn’t get a full breath without that stabbing pain. It was familiar pain, but distressing all the same. "I'm fine. It's nothing," he insisted gruffly.

Peter, for all of his other character flaws, was not so stupid as to believe sailors when they insisted that they were “fine”. It was usually a load of bollocks and when they said “it’s nothing”, they were usually missing a toe or a hand or had some very troubling pus leaking out of some orifice. Point being, they were _never_ “fine”. Frowning faintly, he selected a dark brown bottle from a drawer and poured an opaque liquid into a battered metal cup, offering it to Lupin. "Bollocks. Drink this, it’s just laudanum-- opium," he assured, baffled that Lupin actually  _ sniffed _ at it.

Lupin evidently came to the conclusion that it was safe and tossed the contents of the cup back. After a minute or two, the drug took effect and he relaxed enough that Sirius was able to gently guide him down to lie back on the table at Peter's direction. Determined to see to the actively bleeding gash on his face, Peter heated a needle over the flame in the lantern hanging from the ceiling and threaded it with catgut. "Steady his head please, Sirius."

Sirius nodded and gently took hold of Lupin's head, marveling at the lack of fear in the man’s eyes, the first time since he’d been on the ship. Well, opium did wonderful things even in its liquid medicinal form. He studied the amber eyes below him curiously before Lupin drifted off under the lullaby of the narcotic, detecting bright gold and hazel green flecks intermixed with the dominant color. They looked like nice eyes, especially when they weren't clouded by that ever-present terror. By his voice and teeth (Peter had the oddest knack for telling a man’s age from their teeth and Sirius would bet his brother’s virginity on his accuracy) they’d pinned Lupin for a young man, but this close to him, Sirius could see silver streaks of hair threaded through the light brown and there were faint wrinkles lining his forehead and a gauntness to his face that made Sirius wonder if Peter had lost the gift (and if Regulus had finally gotten laid).

Life as a sailor was never easy, especially when one was a pirate, but Lupin just looked worn out and run down. Sirius wondered what it was Lupin had gone through to make him look that way, and which affected him so deeply. But even drugged to the point of not feeling pain, Sirius figured Lupin wasn't going to tell any secrets.

They had tried to get the truth out of Lupin when they first found him, tried to pry his story out of his lips while he was loopy with the opium. But whatever his secret was, it was one he was intent to keep, which only made Sirius want to know it even more. He had refused to tell them anything regarding his given name, his past crew if he’d had one, where he was from (Peter said his accent sounded “coastal”), if he had any sailing experience or who had hurt him so badly. But everyone had their skeletons and if they wanted to keep them locked in cupboards, that was their business.

Peter leaned over the injured man and wiped a cloth over the deep cut on his cheek to remove the excess blood. He pushed the needle through one side and out the other. He worked quickly with his surprisingly fast fingers and soon had the gash stitched up. "While he's under, I'm going to look at his chest and see what’s going on there," he told Sirius.

Peter’s freckled hands pulled Lupin's shirt up to his chin and neither Peter nor Sirius could keep the horrified gasps that fell from their mouths at the sight. Last night, the lighting was dreadful and flickering, so the full extent of the man's injuries had not been fully explored, apparently. But now, with the sunlight streaming through the windows and the light from the lanterns, it was truly a gruesome picture.

"Shit," Sirius breathed, gray eyes wide. Whoever this Lupin fellow had been before they found him, he had not been a peaceful sort. His torso was layered in scars of varying ages, thicknesses, and height. There were the fresh cuts and slashes they’d seen yesterday, but some scars were a few months old and others looked like they had been there for years. They were stacked on top of each other in areas like his shoulders and jutting hip bones. Some of them, the older ones, were different from normal scars, Sirius mused. Old scars like the ones he himself had were usually pretty faded and a few shades lighter or darker than the rest of the skin, but Lupin's had a silver sheen to them.

"Looks like our friend here was quite the rumbler," Peter murmured, shaking his head. “There’s more scar tissue than clean skin, I’m afraid.” As much as he wanted to look at the mangled mess that was Lupin's abdomen and figure out what they came from and when, he had a mission to accomplish. With no puncture wound readily apparent, he ran his hands very gently along Lupin's ribs, searching for any abnormality. A bruise blossomed near his left lung and he frowned, giving it a press. The frown turned into a grimace and he looked at Sirius. "He has at least three broken ribs, make that four," he clarified grimly as he continued his exam.

It was Sirius's turn to frown as he met his friend's gaze straight on. "What do you mean? Why didn't you see it last night? Is he going to be okay?" His voice hit a timbre that stung in the enclosed air of the medical cabin, and he gave Peter an apologetic look as he took a calming breath. Broken ribs could mean punctured lungs, in Sirius’s experience, and a sailor with a hole in their bellows didn’t last much longer than a ship with one either.

"Well, it's quite likely that they were broken before the other injuries happened and his stunt this morning shook them up again. Bones take a lot longer to heal than flesh wounds and you can't exactly put a broken rib in a splint," explained Peter with no small amount of sass; he was not always so easy to walk over. Peter lowered his ear to Lupin’s chest and listened, a finger held up to silence Sirius, who he  _ knew _ would have an inappropriate joke to make. Evidently satisfied with what he heard, or didn’t hear, he walked to his desk and unrolled a length of wide bandage cloth. 

With Sirius’s help, he wrapped the entirety of Lupin's ribcage snugly and secured it with several deft ties. "That’s about all we can do for the poor sod. Make sure he stays in bed for a while; in an  _ actual _ bed or on a cot if possible. Those general crew hammocks will just mess it up again and it could puncture his lung." he instructed. “If his lung gets punctured, there’s nothing I can do for him here.” Peter looked at Sirius gravely, trying to convey how serious this was.

Sirius nodded solemnly and looked at Lupin again, lying there helpless and battered. He was a little more nervous about his background after seeing his battle wounds but tried not to jump to conclusions. There was a slowly simmering rage curling deep in his chest if he thought too long about it, if he let himself contemplate for more than a few seconds about _who_ would do such a thing to what was obviously a frail man. Maybe he’d been a slave? He shook his head to clear his thoughts, trying to focus on his task at hand. Sirius bent to lift him up when the door slammed open and a very put-out looking Captain James Marion Potter entered the cabin. 

"What in the blue blazes is going on? I've searched this entire bloody bark for my fucking first mate and I find him in  _ here _ playing doctor with Wormtail and what's-his-face!"

"…Lupin."

"I don't care what his bloody name is, Peter!” he roared, a bit of spittle flying off into the air. “What the hell are you doing, Sirius? I was looking for you! ...And why is his shirt off?"

Sirius hurriedly pulled the rest of Lupin's shirt back down to cover his bandages (and the scars) and scowled at his best friend, looking quite surly about the whole ordeal. 

"His shirt wasn't  _ off _ , it was just  _ up _ . I am  _ here _ because Lupin was  _ bleeding _ and needed  _ stitches _ and he has five  _ broken ribs _ .”

“Four,” Peter corrected smartly, a small timid smile on his face.

“Peter!!!” Sirius exclaimed, exasperated. In his tirade, he’d emphasized his words to mimic James’s, inching closer and closer until they were toe-to-toe. This close, he loomed over James by half a head, but if he’d been a lesser man (as if that was even possible), he’d be cowed by his captain’s fury. “And  _ now _ I am going to put him in a bed so he can heal and  _ then _ I will listen to your crack-pot ideas, James Prongs-Up-My-Ass Potter. Excuse me," Sirius growled. He carefully picked up Lupin's limp and too-light body and shouldered past his stunned, steaming captain and bemused surgeon to go back to his own cabin. 

All of the spare cots on deck were reserved for more senior non-Officer crewmates and were too disgusting for Sirius to feel comfortable with putting an injured person on them (not to mention, occupied) and while his own precious backside would miss his bed dearly as he resigned himself to spending another night in the washtub, he told his perfect rump that it was the only way and that they would recover and be as flawless as ever. For the greater good and all that.

Balancing Lupin against his shoulder, he pulled the quilts back and placed the man beneath them. He unbuttoned the scrap of cloth that passed as a shirt carefully, not wanting to wake him up, not that he’d be coming back any time soon after his trip down Opium Lane. Sliding the worn fabric from his shoulders and out from under him, he was struck again by the mess of scars that overwhelmed the man. With the rage turning into more of a boil than a simmer, Sirius tugged the covers back over the man and took a few steps back, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Whatever hurt you, it won't get you again. We look out for our own here, mate, don't worry," he whispered and left the room.

Sirius found James still interrogating Peter in the medic cabin and rolled his eyes dramatically when the man tried to turn on him.

"I never should have let him stay! So far, he's been nothing but trouble and he's using up my precious supply of tincture of opium! That stuff isn't cheap, Black!" James snapped, blue eyes practically wild. "He's like a bird with a broken wing and I can't believe you let Wormtail talk you into nursing him back to health. He's not a puppy, Sirius. He's a grown man whom we know absolutely nothing about and I really ought to keelhaul you for this outrageous stunt you’ve pulled."

"Yeah, but you won't. Mostly 'cause your mum would kill you; you know how she fancies me. He'll heal and be of good use, Prongsie, I promise. You saw how he shot up the mast this morning.  _ With six broken ribs!” _

“Four,” Peter attempted to interject and was shushed with an impatient flip-flap of Sirius’s hand.

“Not even our ship's boys are that fast, mate. He obviously knows his way around a ship. Lupin just needs a little while longer to rest, right Petey?" Sirius defended. He looked at his plump friend in hopes for a little back-up.

Peter looked from James to Sirius and back again nervously and cleared his throat. He was very close to James since he’d had always put up with him and had gotten him the position as a doctor of sorts on the  _ Gryffindor _ , but Sirius was just so _cool_. "Well…he certainly has healed rather quickly so far, faster than anyone I've encountered before. I m-mean, the decision is up to you in the end, Captain, but…" he trailed off, eyes darting to the ground.

James sighed harshly and crossed his arms over his chest. "He gets two more days to make himself fucking useful around here. Now come on, Black, we have things to discuss. You're still my first mate, remember?"

Sirius just grinned and slung his arm over James's shoulders, winking at Peter. "But of course, Jim my darling. What dastardly deeds are we going to get up to this time?"

“I’m thinking Portugal. I hear it’s nice this time of year.”


	2. Mutual, Platonic, and Mature Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little bit of friendly Irish and Catholic-bashing in this chapter, but rest assured it is in fact FRIENDLY and the Marauders don't actually hate Catholics or the Irish. It's the 1800s England, shit's weird like that, but it's meant in jest only.

_ Chapter Two _

The smell of food cooking roused Remus from his drug-induced slumber and his stomach roared impatiently, desiring whatever was cooking to be deposited immediately. He tried not to drool in anticipation and soon found his thoughts otherwise occupied as he surveyed his surroundings. It was his third time in as many days waking up in a strange room, but at least this time he was able to use reason and remind himself that he was on the  _ Gryffindor _ where he was promised food and a bed in exchange for work something resembling loyalty. What a novel concept for  _ pirates _ . 

Someone had removed his shirt. Hot panic coursed through his veins and made his blood rush in his ears. Had they seen? Did they know? They must have seen, there was really no way to _not_ see the silver scars spread cross his chest. Looking down, he saw new bandages around his ribs and, with an experimental deep breath, he presumed that two or more of them were broken and elected to keep the bracings on until later. His lack of shirt made more sense now -- they dressed his wounds after all, but they would’ve gotten an eyeful on the carnage on his skin and doubtlessly were drawing their own conclusions about him. Great. More questions from the first mate, more suspicion from the captain. Just what he needed.

Remus sat up with care, minding wounds that did not hurt half as much as they did the day before. Bare feet hit the sanded wood floor and he stood with minimal difficulty. He turned to look at his appearance in the mirror—a rare luxury for a ship like this; he must be in an officer's cabin. He certainly looked like shit though, fortunately, he felt better than he looked. The cut on his cheek looked like a thin line now, decorated by superfluous sutures at this point, the gash all but completely healed. In a feeble effort to bring a little life to his skin, Remus splashed his face with some cool water from the porcelain bowl below the mirror.

No luck. Too bad.

Sighing, Remus pulled on his basically-ruined shirt and laced up the top before waging battle with himself and his body’s needs. Food or the head— an important decision. His bladder was full and his stomach painfully empty, but he decided he could scrounge up something to eat sooner than he could wash his clothes in the event he didn’t make it to the head after a meal. He opened the door to the cabin and took in as big of a breath as his lungs would allow of fresh sea air. The sun was just coming up from its nightly slumber, casting the deck in an orange glow.

Only a few sailors were milling about, likely the overnight watch finishing their shifts before settling down to sleep, and for that Remus was grateful. He did  _ not _ need anyone fussing over him right now.

He was well-versed enough in the layout of ships to know that they were built on a template and where the head was in one, it was likely the same in others, and he was not disappointed. The head was rightly placed at the bow and he managed to slip down below and even do the seaman’s entrance with only a grimace through the pain in his ribs. A minute later and his business was done and he emerged back on the topdeck, nearly running into the ship’s first mate. He seemed to be everywhere Remus went, and that alone was cause for great concern. 

“Glad to see you up and about—breakfast is out and hot, so grab yourself a bite, mate,” the dark-haired man said before disappearing down into the head himself. Remus cocked a brow, unused to such jovial natures aboard a pirate ship, but did as he was told because his stomach was no longer entertaining any more delays.

He knew the way to the kitchen from the day before and lined up in the relatively short queue (many sleepy sailors having yet to rise for the grueling day ahead). Still, there were a fair number of other men about. It put Remus on edge as they spoke in hushed to one another and gave him, a stranger on their ship, hard glances and questioning looks. He kept his head down and shuffled along to mind his own business and didn’t notice it was his turn at the dishing-out station until a gruff voice spurred him around.

“Eyes up now, lad. None of these sons of whores will bite unless you ask ‘em to. Grab your food and be gone with ye—I’ve got lots of men to feed.” He was a man with a face like a well-worn bar table, a great slashing gash across his face that had apparently claimed his eye if the crude eye patch was anything to speak for. He made a distinct “thumping” noise when he took a step so Remus assumed he was missing a limb, but was not permitted to investigate this curiosity as he was shoved along by impatient and hungry sailors behind him.

A flash of anger sparked in his very soul at being shoved. Despite his intention to lay low, he shot a looks-could-kill glare over his shoulder, though fortunately the offender was more worried about getting food than starting a fight. Part of him, the part that he tried to keep clamped down and sedated, wanted to lay into the other sailor, rend him limb from limb and send him skirting off with his tail between his legs. But the more reasonable side prevailed, warned him not to make trouble and reminded him that it wouldn’t be exactly _fair_ , him fighting normal men. He squared his shoulders instead and made way for a mostly-empty bench.

Not two seconds later, that first mate was at his side again. Did he have him on a leash or something? “You’d better eat your slosh before it’s cold,” Sirius warned, already digging into the pale goop that was probably at some point oatmeal. It was wholly unappetizing, but there were chunks of meat in there that appealed to Remus and the golden biscuit might as well have been actual gold, with how Remus eyed it. Without replying and planning of playing his muteness off of as morning grumpiness, he tapped the biscuit a few times on the table to check for bugs before taking a bite. Actual steam floated up from the surprisingly fluffy biscuit, warming his face and immediately improving his mood. Oh yes, heavenly. He began shoveling the food in as fast as possible, much to the apparent amusement of what Remus decided was the most well-bred pirate he’d met in his life. 

When he wasn’t in the presence of his captain, the First Mate spoke very properly, like he’d been raised among Society. He ate like a prince, spooning only as much food to his mouth as would feasibly fit, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, setting his utensils down in between bites, the whole nine. Remus suddenly felt very hot, embarrassment and a little shame washing over him and his face like the biscuit's steam. How pathetic he must look.

“It’s not going anywhere, Lupin—honest. You’ve alre ady checked the bread for legs and it’s got none, so ease up. There’s more.”

Remus gave him a puzzled look. “Pirates usually do not have enough to go around,” he said suspiciously.

“So you know pirates, do you?” Sirius said in return but cut off the other man’s protest with a raised hand. “Doesn’t matter. We’re better than most pirates. Lupin, my boy, we are the Marauders, the finest pirates ever to grace the seas of England, Europa, and the Americas. We want for nothing, save more frequent and longer port stays, prettier women, and shorter work weeks.”

“I’d say that’s quite a lot to want for,” he replied, unable to keep the amusement from tugging at the corner of his lips and thus was betrayed to the other man as having a sense of humor.

“Not when you consider what most blokes have want for, you know. Right. So." He paused, considered, and pursued. "Where are you from?” Sirius knew he’d gone too far too quickly and cursed himself under his breath. As soon as the question fell from his lips, the mirth ran from Lupin’s eyes and hid back behind that stupid curtain. He sighed and turned his attention back to his food, afraid to press his luck.

A few seconds passed in awkward, pregnant silence before finally, “Kent,” Lupin said, much to Sirius’s surprise, though it was a close-clipped syllable and grudgingly offered. But hey, he would take what he could get from the secretive young man, that was for sure.

Sirius cracked a grin and took a long drink from the tin cup in front of him before speaking again. “Peter thought as much—your accent is apparently “textbook coastal village”, whatever that means.”

“Oh, I see,” Remus offered lamely, inwardly telling himself to perhaps work on accent modifications. “And you? Where are you from?”

Just as Sirius was opening his mouth to reply, a slightly older man plopped down on the empty spot next to Remus and leaned in to interrupt. “Oh, Black here’s a rich nob’s boy what’s gone rebel, boyo,” he said in an accent rich with Irish lilts. “Had himself set up nice and proper in the high streets of London until Captain Potter—they went to  _ finishing school _ , can you imagine?—came along and beckoned him run away with ‘im. And what do you know, the pair of sods did just that.” He ducked as Sirius made to swipe at him and just laughed despite the discomfort written clearly across Remus’s face.

“It’s not like _that_. Well, the rich nob part sure, but it was a mutual, platonic, and mature decision to leave the boring life of nobility with my best mate and become the best pirates the world’s ever seen, you know. And you ought to be happy it worked out, Fabian Prewitt, or you'd still be stuck in that press-ganged slaver's crew working the bilge day in and day out ‘til your tits fall off, so shut your fat Irish mug,” Sirius slung back, a grin equally as cocky as Fabian’s on his mouth.

“Mutual, platonic, and mature, pah, right. Don’t be lying to the lad now, Sirius. It’ll only break his poor Christian ‘eart when he learns the hard way what sordid things you and our Captain get up to. It’s a fine shame, it is, what with all of the wom—yeeow!”

Suddenly there was a hand on the back of Fabian’s neck a nd he was thrown backward by a rather regally-dressed Captain James Potter. “It’s your dirty Catholic face what will break if I catch you spreading lies again, Prewitt. Get back to work, mangy dog. You have sails to tend.” He tried to fix the ginger man with a hard look but it was wasted as Fabian just gave a little finger-wave and flitted off to (hopefully) do his job. 

By this point, Remus was thoroughly confused, vaguely amused, and more than a bit uncomfortable for having been in the middle of what was apparently an ongoing joke around the ship. Words came to his tongue but he dared not open his mouth, what with the way the captain was looking at him.  “I see you’ve met Fabian. He’s a filthy Irish sod if I ever saw one, but for some reason I keep him on as our Sailing Master. You’ll have met Moody, too—no one’s keen on his first name and he doesn’t seem too interested to tell.”

“Moody was the finest gunner and our best outright brawler, but a few years ago he got on the wrong side of a cannonball and lost a leg, sparks burned his eye out. Pretty gruesome sight, but he’s still our gunning teacher and surprisingly a hell of a cook,” Sirius added with a glance over to where their cook was still grumpily dishing out slosh. He returned to looking at Lupin who had, by now, emptied his bowl clean of every last bit of food. “But how are _you_ feeling today, mate? Still like you’ve been keelhauled and hung up to dry?”

The captain was giving him a pretty hard look and Remus weighed his options. He could tell the truth and get to work but raise suspicion on how quickly he healed, or he could lie and take another day of rest and risk angering the captain for having a worthless lay-about. Truthfully he didn’t know what he’d do with himself if he had another whole day of doing nothing and it wasn’t like he wouldn’t get another exam from the surgeon later anyway, so… 

“Actually, I am doing much better. If there’s no trouble, I’d like to get to work doing something.”

James’s face lit up like he’d just been given a handful of gold, but he was pointedly ignoring Sirius’s smug look of ‘I told you so’. “Excellent! I’ll stick you with Benjy who will get you familiar with the  _ Gryffindor _ and figure out where you should be. You have ten minutes, Lupin-- he’ll meet you by the mainmast you love so much. Black, you’re coming with me.” And with that, he grabbed Sirius by the shoulder and pulled him away, leaving Remus to stare at his empty plate.

Well, at least he’d made the captain happy for a spell. He returned the bowl to a pile of dirty ones and quickly made his way back up top, looking for a man with no description beyond “Benjy”. 

Fortune had it that Benjy knew who to look for and soon a shorter young man of about twenty years was approaching him with one of the few friendly faces he’d seen. Remus took him in carefully. Their hair was about the same sandy color but he had bright blue eyes and a kind disposition that made Remus wonder if this was actually a pirate ship or a merchant crew. The top of his head didn’t quite reach Remus’s shoulder, but he looked sturdily built despite his size, and his hand when he stuck it out to shake was heavily calloused from hard labor on a ship. “Benjy Fenwick, mate, here to show you the ropes.” He had cheek and mirth as he held up a line of, well, rope.

Remus hesitantly shook his hand back but gave him the tiniest of grins. “Good to know you, Benjy. I’ve never actually had to sail before, so you have a job on your hands I’m afraid. But I’m told I am a fast learner,” he replied softly. 

“That’s quite alright. Don’t suspect the Captain really expected much else from ya. What did you do on your last ship—we could go from there?” He was clearly taken aback by the sudden shadow that seemed to cross Lupin’s face but he didn’t back down, curiosity prevailing.

Remus paused for a moment but tried to act natural, his mind racing as he struggled to come up with an appropriate answer for the posed question. “I was a mere lookout, I’m afraid. The closest I got to sailing was watching the others do it as I kept watch.” Not entirely a lie, not entirely the truth. But it sure beat him fibbing with something that would get him in trouble if he was called to perform the job, like “tailor” or “carpenter”. 

Benjy seemed to take him at his word and smiled. “Well, I’m sure we could always use someone who’s not ‘fraid of heights, but everyone on this bark knows how to sail, Captain’s orders—just in case, y’know? But it’s not so hard, you’ll catch right on.”

Not entirely sure about that, Remus agreed to be taught how to sail and they spent that day and another week’s worth after that going over the basics and ins and outs of sailing any sort of brigantine like the one they were on. Fabian Prewitt made a few guest appearances to check on Remus's progress, but apparently found Benjy's tutelage satisfaction enough. Remus was instructed on the finer details of the  _ Gryffindor _ , like that she sported 10 32-pounder guns, 4 16-pounders, and 2 12-pound Long Toms at fore and aft. She carried a thin crew of 87 men and officers but had more luxuries than most with a fully-realized surgeon, a dedicated carpenter, a man of the cloth, and several weapons instructors. 

By the end of the two-week training course the surprisingly tough and strict Benjy had concocted, Remus felt less significantly terrified about manning the sails if called upon. He was still supposed to "have a moment" with Mr. Moody and learn the guns, but Captain Potter kept pushing that date further and further back, not-so-subtly implying that the thin Lupin couldn't possibly turn and aim the monstrous cannons.

Remus didn't mind...he wasn't much for the heat of combat. He preferred spending his time in the crow's nest.

Like now, in a rare moment of downtime. The sun was ferocious overhead, but a friendly cloud would skirt by every now and then to provide relief and there was a flirtatious breeze as they clipped along at an easy pace. Remus was thankful for the sun-- it warmed and tanned his skin to the point where he no longer looked like death warmed over. That plus a steady three meals a day had lined his ribs with fat again, and he felt better than he had in years. 

Earlier in the week, the  _ Gryffindor  _ began the journey to the far coast of Italy where they were to be dropping off "not exactly smuggled" goods and find less pointy prey than British warships. The crew was in remarkably good spirits thanks to fortunate weather and their recent port call, though no one had ventured to spend time with him, the Outsider.

So when Remus felt the mast sway and groan with new weight, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He sat up straight and snapped the stem of the piece of straw he'd been gnawing with his molars in a tense crunch. He was completely vulnerable up here, what a foolish move. Cornered. Panicked thoughts pushed through the relaxed fog that had formed in his mind. What if they found out? What if they knew what he was and they were coming to literally push him overboard?

He stood and gripped the railing white knuckled, frozen in fear. Finally after what seemed like ages, a familiar crown of raven’s wing black hair popped into his line of sight. "Sweet Baby Jesus in the Manger, this is a climb!" Sirius panted, embarrassingly out of breath, and he hauled the rest of himself into the Nest. "How d'you do it so fast? Shit, that was nearly the end of me…" He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead but flashed Remus a toothy grin. 

Remus couldn't decide whether to be relieved, amused, or annoyed at this innocent-but-abrupt invasion of his privacy. Privacy on a ship was rare when you shared a room with 60 other men all farting and snoring in their hammocks, and the crow’s nest was his only sanctuary because it was a pain to get to. Sirius had been kind to him though, and he knew he didn't mean any harm. 

So, he cocked a brow and un-clenched his death grip from the railing. "It's just a straight climb up...I thought you were boasting about your fitness just last night?" It was an attempt at a joke, frail but a big step for him who thus far tried to keep his answers to single syllable words in groups of three.

The attempt wasn't lost on Sirius, who rolled his eyes dramatically and stood up suddenly straight, flexing his biceps with a grand gesture. "Well that's just false information, Mr. Lupin, and slander! I'll have you know I'm the fittest bloke on this rig and can take any one of ya in a bare-knuckle brawl!" He crowed the last bit extra loud and got a, "Get down ya daft sod!!" chorus from a few sailors below, several rude gestures, and probably more, but he threw his head back in raucous laughter. 

Remus observed without meaning to, really, the elegant curve of his neck and how the sun bathed him in warm gold light. This man was unlike any other he had encountered, truly a rare sight. He was unabashed and shameless, reckless but not stupid. Remus had seen him be diplomatic when ship duties required and had overheard strategy conversations with the captain...he was very smart. 

When Sirius's head came back up to its usual plane, Remus forced himself to look away from his throat, settling on his gray eyes. Social protocol meant he was supposed to joke back, but he was uncomfortable still. Still… there was something else about Sirius that made him feel at ease when they were like this, even just a little. So he put a smirk on his scarred mouth and flexed his own bicep, a small but firm mass under his nut-brown flesh, and shook his head. "I'll take you on any day, Black. At the very least, I know I can outrun you."

Sirius put on his best "so wounded, so offended" look and bumped his shoulder roughly against Lupin's with a laugh, which he realized immediately afterward was a mistake.

Remus instantly tensed and flinched away, Sirius's cotton sleeve like fire on his shoulder. Without thinking, his hand whipped out and grabbed the other man's wrist in a vice grip, fingers like iron. There was a scared but hard look in his eyes as his heart thundered in his chest, pounding like the waves against the ship in a storm. The look that crossed Sirius's face made him pull away after a few moments and he looked away, ashamed and wishing they weren't in a four-by-four foot space 150 feet in the air, isolated and essentially trapped. He had nowhere to crawl and hide.

Sirius was first startled by the violent reaction to a friendly bump, especially after their jovial bantering moments before, and then stunned by how strong his grip was. He thought for a moment there that Lupin would break his wrist, mangle the slender (but still completely manly, he would insist) joint. His shock then melted to confusion and hurt; he thought he was getting through to Lupin, thought he'd shown him all the kindness he could, and here he was absolutely rejecting friendly touches, and with _violence_. For once in his life, he was struck speechless. Moments passed. Seconds. Nearly a minute. Sirius cleared his throat tensely and took note of how uncomfortable Lupin was. "...right then, see you...at dinner." It was mumbled out before Sirius began the torturous descent down the mast.

Remus looked at the space Sirius once occupied and felt shame wash over him, churning in his stomach like rancid meat. He'd been kind to him, was one of the few crew members to not wash him with glares of disdain at every turn, and he had been downright vicious in return. Remus may not have been raised the same and certainly wasn’t as well-bred as Sirius clearly once was, but his parents did manage to instill some manners in him. He was too embarrassed to follow immediately, but slid down the mast a few minutes later to tend to his duties and think about how he could remedy this.

As soon as his feet hit the deck, the alarm bell sounded and Moody stormed out of his cabin, gleaming pistol in hand and sword buckled across his chest. "Hands off your cocks, lads, we've got a lady who wants to dance," he bellowed, and Remus followed the line of his one-eyed gaze to a sloop on the horizon, a Portuguese naval ship, its flag flying high and proud as it made a beeline to the  _ Gryffindor _ .


	3. The Santa Cristiana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Racist slurs towards the Portuguese. Copious amounts of violence and death.

Remus felt a familiar dread wash over him. He wasn't ready for this, wasn’t ready for his crewmates to see him in combat. It would just happen again and they'd find out. His mind reeled to the calendar he kept running in his mind and let out the breath he'd been holding… he would not be a monster tonight, thank God.

He saw Captain Potter emerge from his post at the wheel and start calling out orders. The trained gunners checked the cannons were loaded and had plenty of re-up ready to go. Remus took his place at the sails, and began untying thick rope to unfurl the sails so they could gain speed. They were ready for a fight.

The Portuguese ship did not falter and bore down on the  _ Gryffindor _ just as confidently as they were approached. Sirius stood at the bow with a looking glass and roared with laughter, "Only thirty men on that raft and they look sick as dogs!"

Remus couldn’t see what Sirius saw, but the thought of having to battle incapacitated men was far more appealing than fighting trained marines. He knew that if the Portuguese had not been duty-bound to face them, they would probably have turned tail and run. But the law for encountering pirates was to attack on sight, no need to take any prisoners. Anyone who failed to do otherwise would be hung for cowardice.

A chill went down Remus’s spine; naval battle was a messy, loud, chaotic affair even in the best of weather conditions and with the odds in one’s favor. The chaos he could handle, could sort out a battle with his eyes, but the sheer volume of noise was going to be debilitating to his sensitive ears.

There was a hum of excitement in the air as the other crew members of the  _ Gryffindor  _ readied for battle. Navy ships did not often carry huge troves of treasure, but their equipment was reliable and new and they always had plenty of food and ammunition. This ship was a little far from home, so it was possible they were low on supplies, but that just made them easier prey. There was always something to take.

Fabian swept by with long, self-assured strides and thrust a saber in its leather belt at Remus, a delighted look on his freckled, sunburned face. “Alright there, mate? T’ain’t nothin’ ta worry yer head over, just some geese lookin’ for a fight. We’ve got this.” 

His words didn’t do much to calm Remus’s nerves. He wasn’t worried about his own wellbeing, but for those around him. He may not have cared deeply for any one person on the  _ Gryffindor _ , but he didn’t want anyone to  _ die _ . From the corner of his eye, he saw Peter skittering into the surgery with a pistol, safely out of harm’s way. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if their surgeon got splattered by a cannonball.

He strapped the sword belt around his waist and waited for further orders. They were bearing down steadily on the Portuguese ship and were close enough that he could hear the clamoring of alarm bells and the clipped, regimented shout of orders from their captain. If he squinted, he could see that they were very well-armed indeed, but swaying a little on their feet.  _ ‘I wonder what’s wrong with them…’ _

Captain Potter returned to his station at the helm and barked the order to hard turn starboard. Remus and the other sailors hurriedly trimmed the sails, pulling the thick, salt-crusted ropes taught to reduce the wind getting into the sails. Everyone held fast to the railing or something nailed down as their captain spun the wheel hard to the right, bringing the massive vessel perpendicular to the sloop about thirty yards away.

Now Remus could see the foreign sailors close-up, or relatively so, and saw they were green around the gills and sweaty, but that could be from being strapped into their hot woolen battle dress. The  _ Gryffindor’s _ crew were in varying stages of cotton shirts and pants; only Captain Potter had a jacket, which he’d only donned at the sight of the impending battle.

Moody shouted something Remus figured was incomprehensible, but the gunners must have understood perfectly as in unison, a booming ‘crack’ split the air and the ship rocked with the force of all 8 16-ton cannons loosing their ammo with thick clouds of pungent smoke. Remus’s eyes watered and he forced back the sneeze welling in his nose. His ears rang uncomfortably and when he looked over at the other ship, his stomach gave a nauseating flop.

Dark, dark blood ran freely across their deck. A few limbs littered the once-shining wood, and the cries of agony from the sailors was heart-wrenching. Remus was used to blood, to battle, to the gore, but it never got easier for him. Everyone said it would. Promised him he’d become numb to it and just be able to  _ let it happen _ , a  _ natural part of life _ for someone like him, but it was still hard. He thought of their mothers who wouldn’t ever see their babies again, of their wives at home waiting for news. And to die this way… what a waste.

The crew of the  _ Gryffindor _ raised their voices in something resembling a war cry, spurred on by the carnage left at their first strike. Remus heard the sharp call of “Atire!” over the noise, saw the spark of the fuse and whipped his head around, wild-eyed, to stare at his captain, who had Sirius at his side speaking calmly in his ear. The pair must’ve noticed the sparks at least and the Captain shouted to brace for impact. Remus clung to the ropes white-knuckled and fixed his eyes on the cannonballs that would surely be removing his head from his neck any moment now.

The black spheres shot into the sky with a roar muffled by distance, came closer, closer, and… missed. Remus blinked. 

They  _ missed _ .

All six of them, and the resulting splashes around their ship added insult to injury. He heard Sirius’s laughter from the helm, soon met with several others as the Marauders realized their great luck. A sick ship, under-manned, and  _ green _ . 

Turning to look at his officers for instruction, Remus saw a malicious smirk on Sirius’s face -- the man looked  _ hungry _ , predatory, and Remus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Despite the overall good vibe and prosperity on the  _ Gryffindor _ , the Marauders were still  _ pirates _ . The Portuguese sailors scrambling to reload were just obstacles between them and the gold.

A large dark-skinned man approached Captain Potter and they exchanged a few words. Remus had seen him before and knew he was the bo’sun, but couldn’t remember his name. He was impressively built and intimidating up-close, and Remus counted himself fortunate that he hadn’t had any negative interactions with him. Moments after their exchange, the piercing trill of the bo’sun’s pipe let everyone know that they would be closing in on their prey and boarding soon. Nausea curled again in his stomach. He would have to fight or be labeled a coward and probably, definitely, pitched overboard.

The encroach on the ship, the  _ Santa Cristiana _ Remus saw her name was in beautiful gold scrolling, seemed to take an eternity. The men around him were unsheathing swords, grabbing blunt-force objects, and practically thrumming with excitement. Even little Benjy Fenwick, with his pleasant demeanor, was bouncing on the balls of his feet and held a ripper-sharp knife in his right hand. Captain Potter boldly strode to the portside where they faced the Portuguese vessel and cocked the flintlock pistol he kept at his side. Grim determination set a line across his mouth and he was soon flanked by his First Mate and the bo’sun as they prepared to grapple. 

It’s a strange, surreal thing when a ship that is constantly moving comes to a stop in the middle of the ocean. The anchor was weighed and even though the sea gave a gentle push and pull against the ship, they were  _ still _ . The cool breeze Remus had relished earlier had abandoned them, leaving a thick, sweaty stillness in the air that made his lungs feel heavy when he drew breath. Anticipation made his heart race, but he shuffled with the rest of the crew to queue for boarding.

The Portuguese were not going down without a fight. As the first of the Marauders scaled the ropes and planks hastily thrown across, the sailors made a few successful strikes, swiping with their own sabers and cutting open lines of scarlet on the arms and legs of their attackers. Nothing debilitating, fear tempering their conviction, but they’d shown their teeth. ‘ _ Not totally helpless then, but still… a damn shame,’ _ Remus thought to himself. He swallowed his own fear and followed his crewmates across to the  _ Santa Cristiana _ .

He nearly slipped in the blood that soaked the once-gleaming deck, but caught his balance in time to review the chaos unfolding. Captain Potter and the First Mate were back-to-back, fighting off three black-coated officers with matching wild, wicked grins on their faces. Fabian was grappling with a man about his size, wrestling him to the ground and taking his dagger with ease. 

So caught up in the fray, Remus didn’t see the rangy sailor coming at him with his sword raised. 

Remus tried to pivot on his left foot to parry, but the Portuguese sailor lunged faster than Remus was expecting. He scored a deep gouge high on Remus’s left shoulder and Remus felt his control slipping as pain blossomed through his arm and blood soaked his sleeve. 

‘ _ Please, no…’ _ he thought to himself and clenched his first around his sword hilt, desperate to remain in control of himself. Between timely side-steps and actually successful parries, he was able to take three calming breaths and push past the madness building within his mind. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured to the sailor when they met in a bind, swords locked in a fight for dominance. With a mindful step to the left and a fluid diagonal swipe upwards, Remus cut a deep wound across the sailor’s throat. The man’s sword clattered to the deck as he reached up to clutch at his gaping neck, eyes quickly losing their light as he bled out in moments. It was a merciful death, Remus defended to himself; he could’ve opened his belly and let him carry his guts around for days until he died, but this way it was over quickly.

An ugly satisfaction purred somewhere in the back of his head, overjoyed that their prey had fallen so  _ easily _ . He took the man’s sword and secured it in his now-empty belt as a back-up. He stepped over the body and reviewed their situation. He counted the number of uniformed bodies against the assorted dress of the Marauders. Forty-one… ‘ _ But there were only thirty when we engaged…’ _ He counted again. Forty-one. 

An open door to a lower deck connected the dots for Remus. Their night watch must have been belowdecks resting when the bells sounded, and none of them looked nearly as sick as their crewmates. Still, the sailors were outnumbered two to one and the Marauders held their own.

Remus was set upon again by a fresh-faced boy who wasn’t old enough to grow a beard. Remus struck him hard in the head with the hilt of his sword and watched his unconscious body crumple to the ground in a groaning heap. ‘ _ Stay down and don’t make any noise…’ _ he willed the boy inwardly. He couldn’t kill a _ child _ for doing what they were paid to do. 

A sudden  _ need _ to locate the First Mate blared in his brain and he set off to find Sirius Black, though he didn’t know why. On his journey, he was attacked by two more sailors who met an end similar to the first, wide cuts opening in their necks. His arm bled sluggishly and ached dully, lessened by the adrenaline coursing through his body, but he didn’t let either slow him down. Lord knows he’d had much worse. 

Sirius was nowhere to be seen on the topdeck, evidently having been separated from Captain Potter who just put a bullet through the brows of a mountain of a man who’d picked up an actual harpoon to attack him. 

Remus walked carefully, conscious of his steps. His boots were worn and had practically no traction on the blood-soaked deck, but he managed to weave through the battle without falling in it. Suddenly, he heard a low, humorless laugh from several yards off and tilted his head in that direction, trying to pinpoint it.  _ There _ . He descended the stairs that led to the deck below where hammocks were slung among large coils of rope. 

“Go ahead and try to hit me -- word has it you Dago scum can’t shoot to save your lives, so go ahead and try.” 

It was Sirius’s brash tone that broke through the muted sounds of the battle in the deck above, ringing through the musty air. Remus turned a corner and saw him standing with his back against a wall. His sword was abandoned on the other side of the room and his pistol was apparently out of bullets, useless in his belt. In front of him, with his back to Remus, was a man with gold piping on his shoulders -- the first mate of the  _ Santa Cristiana _ . His dark hair was matted with sweat and blood at his nape, and Remus could  _ smell _ the anger radiating off of him. He had a gun.

Neither of them had noticed Remus, who stuck to the shadows and slowly made his way through them to get in better position. He was flabbergasted that Sirius would bait his attacker at a time like this. At this close of range, there was no way the man would miss. 

The first mate said something in Portuguese that Remus could only guess was an insult, by the way the spit flew from his mouth and peppered Sirius’s face. Sirius merely  _ rolled his eyes _ and scoffed, wiped the spittle from his cheek and flicked it back at the other man.

‘ _ He’s absolutely insane, _ ’ was Remus’s only thought before the most stupid moment of his life. He heard the sound before he saw what was happening, heard the creaking sound of knuckles under flesh as the man pulled the trigger of his pistol. Before the flint hit the frizzen, Remus lept from the shadows and dove between the two men. 

The noise deafened him and his sensitive ears, left his head ringing, which paled in comparison to the inferno of agony that overtook his chest. “Oh,” he uttered intelligently as his body fell to the floor in what he was sure was an unseemly heap. His own blood warmed his face, slick and wet. Oddly comforting. The last thing he saw before slipping into darkness was Sirius beating the sailor over the head with the butt of his pistol, white-hot rage on his fine-boned face.


	4. It Will Keep the Monster in the Cage

_ He was in a field of enormous sunflowers. His hair and clothes were clean and his joints didn’t ache. The sunshine was high overhead but mild, and his mind was  _ quiet _.  _

_ Remus walked through the field at leisure, reveling in the peace he felt for the first time in nearly two decades. Nothing hurt, no scent or sound or sight overwhelmed him. He just  _ was _.  _

_ A breeze picked up the curls around his nape and caressed his neck like a lover, encouraging him to continue to wander the field. There was something on the opposite side there, something he couldn’t quite make out. If he could get a little closer... _

_ Suddenly, a black dog with silver eyes (they practically gleamed in the sun) popped its head out from the flowers, tongue lolling out from its bright red mouth. Tail wagging, it approached him like a friend and stood up on its hind legs. It was a large enough dog that his paws were able to drape over Remus’s bony shoulders, which was not comforting. Remus already didn’t particularly  _ like _ dogs (they always knew what he was) and this one was huge. The dog butted its giant head against his mouth and he felt its breath, hot and humid, on his cheek.  _

_ It barked. “Lupin,” it said. _

_ ‘ _ No,’ _ Remus thought.  _ ‘Dogs don’t talk. _ ’  _

_ An answering growl rumbled sleepily in the back of his head and Remus felt like screaming. It was back.  _

_ The dog barked again, louder. “Lupin!” His paws shook Remus’s whole body with apparent ease. He felt warm wetness on his face -- the dog must’ve licked him. “Lupin!” it repeated, bark increasing in pitch and shrillness and desperation.  _

_ He felt his vision clouding over -- the pretty, yellow sunflowers were fading away and the growling in his head got louder. The dog’s body faded with the landscape but its bark rang to match the growling growing louder in his mind. Somehow the dog was still shaking him and he could still feel the moisture on his face. _

He opened his eyes and met frantic silver -- no, gray -- eyes set on a pale, blood-splattered face. 

“Lupin!” 

It sounded like the dog. 

Remus had time to register the excruciating pain in his chest before he blacked out again.

*~*~*

When he came to, he was in a room he was all-too-familiar with: the surgery. No one was around this time, but there was a tray of food on the sideboard that held a couple of seaman’s biscuits with a pat of butter and a cup of ale. The growling in his head was definitely still real and Remus sighed in disgust. Just wonderful. 

He tried to sit up but couldn’t move; something held his wrists. He looked down and sighed again. Iron shackles. Further inspection revealed irons on his legs as well, connected to thick heavy rings in the floor meant to hold down screaming sailors during amputations.  _ ‘Or sailors who somehow survived being shot point-blank in the chest,’ _ he supposed.

Dread settled over him like a lead blanket. He had no idea what day it was, where on the ocean they were, or what had happened to the rest of the crew. To Sirius. Just because he was on the  _ Gryffindor _ didn’t mean the Marauders had been successful. Another naval vessel could just have easily come upon the  _ Santa Cristiana _ in distress and wiped out the pirates. Pirate ships were repurposed all the time. 

Pirates or the navy, Remus knew he was in serious shit either way. 

He focused his senses and listened to the groaning of the ship, hoping to hear familiar voices. He mostly heard his own blood roaring in his ears and the galloping of his heartbeat. The intensity of both made his blood run cold. His stomach dropped. What day was it? Without anything to reference, his panic began to mount rapidly. He ran his tongue around his mouth and tasted blood. His own blood, which was actually the better of the two outcomes since it meant he probably hadn’t hurt anyone. 

His body felt too hot, his skin too tight, too itchy, and his joints ached like he’d been crushed by an entire ship’s worth of cannons. His chest still hurt from where he’d been shot, but it was now more of a dull throb in the background, which helped him date his injury. His teeth felt foreign, too-flat and too short. ‘So today is the 27th of July,’ he concluded. The sunlight filtering in through the slats high on the wall told him that it was still daytime at least, which bought him a few hours. 

He considered yelling to try to get someone - anyone’s attention, but the voice of reason in the back of his head asked him what exactly he was going to say? ‘Oh sorry I’m a monster and tonight literally everyone will die if you don’t lock me up?’ Yeah, right. So instead he focused on his breathing, on trying to calm himself. He would need to have a plan when someone came to check on him. Panicking now would only hurt him later.

Remus kept watching the sunlight, though. He wanted to be prepared for the inevitable. The color was cool, so probably not nearing sundown, and he studied the shadows on the wall to watch for changes. All the while, the growling grew louder, hungrier.

The light had started to take on a more golden hue when finally,  _ finally _ , he heard voices. He chastised himself for being relieved that he recognized them -- the surgeon Pettigrew and, further relief, Sirius Black. ‘ _ He’s alive,’ _ he mused, feeling satisfied that his foolish and very dangerous stunt had at least paid off in that regard.

“I still don’t understand why he has to be in  _ shackles _ , Padfoot,” was the hushed thready voice of the doctor, just outside the door. His volume and the thick door between them did nothing to mute his speech to Remus’s too-sensitive ears. 

“Captain’s orders,” came the surly reply. 

“He was just  _ shot _ , I hardly think he’s a threat!” Bless Peter for his innocence. ‘ _ I really don’t want to kill him,’  _ Remus thought woefully. He’d been such a nice fellow to him, if a little overbearing in his care. 

Sirius scoffed, a harsh, unattractive noise. “He was just shot in the  _ heart  _ and he’s still alive, Wormtail. What do your sacred medical texts make of  _ that _ ?” 

Ah, so Sirius suspected him after all. Suspected him of what, Remus couldn’t begin to imagine. As far as he knew, there were only a handful of people like him out there, and rumors of his condition weren’t as widespread as others. Thankfully. But sailors were a superstitious lot, and there were a  _ lot _ of Irish onboard. Remus had nothing against the Irish personally, but he’d learned the hard way that those who still believed in the Old Ways of the Faerie and Fey caught on pretty handily to what he was. It was really inconvenient.

Pettigrew was tellingly silent, and Remus heard his shoe scuff along the wood floor as he fidgeted. He could practically hear the beads of sweat rolling down his face. The smell of him was strong enough, anyway. Sweat and something antiseptic, a little bit of butter from his last meal. Cotton from bandages. 

“That’s what I thought,” Sirius said, though not unkindly. “I don’t like it either -- the man saved my life for Christ’s sake, but… it’s just not normal.”

Remus couldn’t take offense to that. He certainly hadn’t been anything resembling normal since he was a child. Nothing normal about turning into a monster every month and trying to either kill everything in sight or maul yourself. No two ways about it.

When the doorknob turned, Remus didn’t try to hide that he was awake from the two men who entered the room. Pettigrew immediately brought him the cup of ale from the sideboard and helped him lift his head to drink it down despite Sirius’s protests to be careful. The ale was blessedly cool and cut through the taste of copper in his mouth, smoothed the burning ache in his throat. He met Pettigrew’s watery blue eyes and conveyed his thanks with his own, afraid to actually speak, lest it come out as a growl. 

He noticed that Sirius would not look at him directly and that he would look away hastily whenever he tried to catch his gaze. Sirius kept to the wall of the room and shoved his hands, clenched into fists, in his pockets. He remained uncharacteristically silent while Pettigrew dithered. 

“I’m going to check your wound now, Mr. Lupin,” Pettigrew said gently, as if he would break if he spoke too loud, and set the ale cup down. He’d not been given a new shirt ( _ ‘Why give a man on the way to the gallows a clean set of clothing?’ _ Remus presumed grimly), so the surgeon merely had to unfasten the semi-soaked bandage looped around his chest. He had fashioned the bandage smartly so that he didn’t have to move Remus beyond a slight shift of his shoulder to remove it completely, a testament to his ingenuity and skill.

The smell of his own blood made Remus want to vomit, but Pettigrew’s cool hands were surprisingly settling. He pressed on the skin around the wound gingerly, checking for infection, and seemed satisfied with his findings. “Truly marvelous,” the surgeon said with a small smile, forgetting the severity of their situation for a moment. 

Remus knew he was a doctor’s wet dream. He could withstand most injuries and any effort put into patching him up was repaid tenfold as his body healed rapidly. The more meat he got into him, the faster he healed. As a result, he was something of a prize in the medical community among the few doctors he’d encountered. He’d spent the majority of his life running from less-than-reputable doctors, butchers, would-be serial killers, probably.

Pettigrew put a cold, pungent salve on his wound, which Remus couldn’t see, before applying fresh bandages. Obviously uncomfortable with the long stretch of silence that only continued to grow, the doctor bustled to the tray of food and looked at Remus. “H-hungry?”

‘ _ Not for biscuits…’ _ Remus grumbled inwardly, but gave Pettigrew a polite grin and a shake of his head. This close to the evening, he’d throw it up. Red, rare meat or nothing were his only two options, in his experience. It was usually nothing. 

The silence returned and Pettigrew kept looking between Sirius, who now had his strong arms crossed over his chest and Remus, who couldn’t do much but lie there on the table, counting down the seconds to nightfall. 

Finally, “Peter, can you leave us alone for a few minutes? I need to ask Lupin some questions.” Sirius’s voice sounded flat, distant, and his eyes were hard when he looked at the surgeon. Pettigrew’s face, in another situation, would’ve been a comical caricature of surprise, but he nodded mutely and left the room. He left the door cracked.

Rolling his eyes, Sirius closed the door with his foot and locked it with a heavy clang. Fear, true fear, overtook Remus. Was he going to kill him? Slit his throat while he lay there helpless and unable to defend himself? Strangle him? Shoot him, even? No… Sirius Black might have been a pirate, but Remus truly didn’t think he was capable of something so dishonorable. Honor among thieves, and all that. Still, there was a look in his eyes that made Remus uncomfortable, made him want to tuck his tail and hide somewhere dark.

Wordlessly, Sirius grabbed a chair and pulled up next to the table where Remus was chained. He studied Remus’s prone form for several seconds, and Remus fought down the animal instinct to tremble under the examination. He watched his eyes cover every inch of him, from scarred toes, tattered trousers, all the way up to his graying hair; he saw the gears turning behind those gray-not-silver eyes as he struggled to put the pieces of the puzzle together. It was all Remus could do to keep breathing steadily, in and out, in and out. He didn’t want the man to know just how scared he was. 

Much to Remus’s surprise, Sirius fished a set of keys out his pockets and unlocked the shackles on his wrists and the ones on his ankles. A wild, panicked thought shot through Remus’s mind, ‘ _ Run.’  _ But he pushed past it, forced himself to not move until given permission. The window was too far, too narrow, and he’d be plunging himself into an ocean in the middle of god-knows-where. No, best to stay put. 

“So,” Sirius began, his voice grave. “Tell me everything.”

The other man looked much older than his twenty-odd years, seemingly aged by this whole ordeal. His face looked drawn tighter across those impossible cheekbones and his shoulders were not held as straight as they once were. He finally met Remus’s eyes. Remus felt his breath catch in his throat. Sirius didn’t look angry or scared or dangerous, at that moment. His soul looked laid bare in the stormy depths and some of his fear ebbed away. 

Remus swallowed, ignoring the way his throat felt too narrow, and pushed past the now-roaring snarl in his brain to speak human speech. “You’ll kill me.” A statement. No accusation, no judgment, just a fact.

Ridiculously, Sirius snorted. “Hardly the best way to repay the man who saved my life, don’t you think? Tell me.” Sirius’s voice was as honest as his face, and he patted his chest and pockets in a ‘I’m unarmed’ gesture. 

‘ _ They’re all going to find out anyway in a few hours,’ _ Remus reasoned with himself. Slowly, he sat up to avoid making any sudden movements and to baby the hole still in his chest. His hips, shoulders, and wrists all popped and cracked in the movement and he grimaced. The pre-transformation bullshit was almost as bad as the actual thing. 

“I was attacked when I was five years old. My father got into some trouble with one of the local gangs. I think he owed them money? I don’t remember much, about the actual thing. Lots of pain, I guess. I woke up in a cage on a ship headed for Australia. We… didn’t make it to Australia.” He paused, searching Sirius’s face for cues but found nothing there except for patient interest, encouraging him to continue. 

“There’s a whole bunch more. You’ll think I’m crazy but… in about four hours, I am going to turn into a monster and destroy everything in my path.” he paused and gathered the rest of his shot-to-hell courage to continue. “Tonight’s the full moon. I’m a werewolf. ” Remus had never said the words aloud before, not in almost twenty years. The word felt foreign on his tongue, heavy and acrid. ‘Werewolf.’ Awful succinct for all it entailed, really.

“So because you’re a… werewolf… you can’t die?” Sirius hazarded, taking things way too well for Remus to feel at ease. His face was unreadable. Remus hated it. The smell of him didn’t give much away -- he wasn’t afraid, at least, which was absurd. He should be  _ terrified _ .

“No, I can die.” Remus swallowed and pushed back the rising fear again. “It’s just… really difficult.”

“Did you know you wouldn’t die when you saved me?” 

‘ _ Saved him. Like I’m a saint.’  _

Remus shook his head. “I’ve never been shot in the chest before. I’ve never been dumb enough to not dodge. Or to jump in the way.”

He was surprised to see a smirk flash over Sirius’s wide mouth for just a moment. "It was really stupid."

"So you believe me?" It was a hard question to ask. Sirius could either a) choose to believe him and kill him for being a monster, or b) decide Remus was mad as a hatter and have him committed or, you know, still kill him. No one was looking for him. It would be easy. 

Sirius hummed at the front of his mouth, considering. "Well the way I see it, you could be lying. But I saw all of your blood come out of you and then you just got  _ more _ blood or something. Point being, there's been a lot of weird stuff about you that didn't add up and "werewolf" makes about as much sense as anything else." 

Remus couldn't believe it. Sirius was being so  _ nonchalant  _ about it. Who the hell was he? "Captain Potter…"

"Captain Potter owes you his life the same as me," he interrupted. "I'm his best friend and he'd be lost without me. Just a fact. So if tonight's the full moon, can we just dope you up with laudanum or something?"

Remus shook his head woefully. "I wish it were that simple. Where are we?"

"In port at Essaouira. Doubled back down to Morocco to trade that Portuguese ship for supplies and gold. Why?"

"If there's any way to get most of the crew off the ship, that would be best." His heart raced. There was a chance.

"Most of them will probably pass out in their cups at the local taverns, it'll be pretty thin tonight." 

"Good. Grab as much silver as you can find and lock me in the actual brig. Bar the doors. No guards, just chains and silver," Remus instructed, incredibly serious. “Keep anyone else on board as far away as possible.” 

Sirius nodded, still taking this in a little too calmly for Remus to believe. "Will the silver keep you from...you know,  _ turning,  _ or whatever it is you do?"

Remus shook his head with a grimace. "It will keep the monster in the cage. Or it'll kill me. One of the two."


End file.
